Frames
by Sk8er Chica
Summary: Danny's asleep, Mac shows his sense of humor by playing a trick. One-shot set during "Risk." Couldn't come up with a decent summary for this, but the story itself is good


**DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING!**

**Author's Note: I'm a newly minted fan. Yes, I've come into the series pretty late, but I've always thought it didn't quite measure up to the other _CSI _spin-offs. Watching the first half of Season 2 on DVD has totally changed my mind. This fits with the episode's timeline except one minor detail I added. Hope you enjoy; please read and review! First _CSI: NY _fic, so constructive criticism is appreciated.  
**

'_Just my friggin' luck,' _thought Danny as he shuffled through the halls of New York City's crime lab. '_Who else would find a body on their way home from an 18-hour shift and hafta come back in?'_

Danny caught a look at himself in one of the lab's many glass walls. His stubble seemed to be growing by the second, his spiky blond hair was in more disarray than usual, and his clothes were wrinkled. As Danny further examined his reflection, he noticed one of his eyes was twitching. He blinked and almost immediately wished he hadn't; both eyes started to itch and burn from exhaustion. Though Danny was used to keeping long and strange hours, he knew he couldn't stay awake much longer.

Danny walked further down the hall until he reached the breakroom and paused in its doorway. The room was completely deserted. He turned his head left, then right to make sure no one (especially Mac) was on their way. Danny entered the breakroom and lowered himself onto the most comfortable sofa. He knew Mac wouldn't like him taking an unscheduled break, but he also knew Mac would be even more upset if Danny kept fighting to stay awake and overlooked an important clue in the subway surfer case as a result. Danny removed his glasses and set them atop a stack of old _New York Post_s piled on the table beside him.

"Just a couple minutes," Danny told himself out loud as he pulled off his jacket.

Danny stretched out lengthwise across the tiny sofa, opting to use the peacoat as a blanket instead of rolling it up to create a makeshift pillow. He could tolerate waking up with a crick in his neck; sleeping for any length of time without some sort of covering was nearly impossible for him, even during the worst heat waves. He closed his eyes and drifted off within roughly thirty seconds.

"Rise and shine, Danny-boy!" called Mac, striding into the room with a file. "Got a lead on where our vic was last night."

He leaned over the sofa and lightly tapped the CSI on the shoulder. When Mac didn't even receive a grunted curse in Italian as a reply, he knew Danny wasn't lightly napping; his current state was the sleep of the truly exhausted. Mac straightened. As supervisor, he knew he should wake Danny up so they could resume their task of getting justice for Randy Williams and his family. On other hand, a tired CSI was an unobservant and inefficient CSI. And Danny certainly hadn't asked to go find a body after working for almost an entire day. Mac was a tough boss, but not an unreasonable one and decided to let his rarely-exposed "soft" side win out.

"All right, Messer. Ya got 15 minutes." he said, though he wasn't sure Danny could hear him.

Mac left the breakroom, intending to go to his office until Danny's nap time was over. He was distracted from his route when he heard Stella's voice ring from the layout room.

"Wow, Sheldon, I almost didn't recognize you!" she exclaimed with a grin.

Hawkes lifted his head up from the stack of crime scene photo's he'd been examining to return the smile. "Thanks, Stel."

The young ME's assistant turned CSI had traded in his old glasses with black plastic frames for a sleeker, wire design. In Stella's opinion, the design was much more modern and complemented Sheldon's facial structure a hundred times better.

Mac stuck his head in the room. Hawkes' new eyewear did not go unnoticed by the detective, especially not the fact that the frames were quite similar to the ones Danny wore. A glimmer came to Mac's eyes, a sign his inner prankster was about to come out of hiding. Few (if any) of the lab's personnel would guess Mac enjoyed practical jokes, but they had served as a tool for curing boredom, fostering camaraderie, and reducing stress during his days as a Marine. It was a vice he couldn't indulge in as often since becoming a supervisor, but he found it hard to resist when such a perfect opportunity presented itself.

"Can I see those?" he asked innocently, gesturing to his own face.

"Sure," Hawkes agreed, passing them over.

"Very nice," said Mac as he examined them. "Well, I'm gonna refill my coffee cup. I'll check in on you two later."

"Okay," said Hawkes, so absorbed in some piece of evidence Stella had just handed him that he didn't notice Mac still had his glasses.

Mac hurriedly returned to the breakroom. Danny was still dead to the world. Mac picked up Danny's glasses from the stack of newspapers and carefully tucked them into the pocket of his blazer before carefully setting Hawkes's glasses in the exact spot where Danny's had been. Now all he had to worry about was Sheldon figuring out his glasses were gone and wandering the building to find them. Mac went across the hall and positioned himself in a lab that was near enough to have a good view but far enough that Danny might not immediately figure out he'd had something to do with it.

Half an hour later, Danny felt himself awakening. He groped blindly beside him for his glasses and slid them over his ears with practiced ease. Damn it, he was still tired. Not only that, he realized as he sat up that his vision was still blurry. He rubbed his eyes vigorously to clear any remaining grit from them, but that didn't help.

'_The hell's up with my glasses?' _he wondered. '_I was seein' fine before I fell asleep._'

Even though he couldn't quite make out the numbers on the clock, he knew his nap had last much longer than planned.

"Mac's gonna kill me," he muttered, standing and putting on his coat.

Mac watched from the lab as Danny staggered like a drunk toward the breakroom door, his usual athletic grace impaired by the effect Hawkes' prescription had on his vision and therefore his equilibrium. Danny was undoubtedly trying to find some other explanation for his clumsiness. Low blood sugar appeared to be the young CSI's conclusion, Mac observed, as Danny unsteadily made his way to the row of vending machines.

Danny dug some change out of his pocket, contemplating his choices. He didn't need to see, as he had long ago committed the machine's offerings to memory. Salt and vinegar chips, great as they were, wouldn't tide him over; neither would LifeSavers. He figured he could last a while on Reese's Cups or a Snickers bar. At least either of those contained some protein. He fumbled with the first coin, but managed to insert it. Once the machine had accepted his money, Danny punched in C9, expecting a Snickers. He reached through the doorflap at the bottom of the machine and felt around in the bin.

"What the hell?" Danny said angrily.

There was no candy bar waiting for him. He slapped the side of the machine with his palm in case the candy had gotten stuck, then put his hand into the bin. It remained as empty as his stomach. He heard footsteps in the room and saw Lindsay out of the corner of one whacked-out eye.

"Linds, don' try t' use this thing," he advised her.

"Why?" she questioned, taking her mid-shift snack of an apple from the refrigerator.

"'Cause it just took my money and didn't gimme nothin'," he said. He shook his head disgustedly. "Just like the damn slot machines in AC."

Lindsey got on her hands and knees and pushed the flap back. She stood up, holding a package of JuicyFruit Gum.

"Here you go."

"That ain't a Snickas."

"Well," Lindsay said carefully, "are you sure that's what you pressed?"

"Montana, I been here for years. Know dis machine like the back o' my own hand." He produced some more quarters from his pocket. "Let's try dis again," he muttered.

He pressed D3 for a Reese's Cup, but the wrapper on the candy bar he pulled from the bin was silver. 3 Musketeers, his least favorite candy bar of all time. He yelled something at the machine in Italian, something Lindsay was sure wasn't nice. Mac, having seen all this from the nearby lab, decided the joke had gone far enough and came into the breakroom. Danny was now squinting at the machine, having abandoned his glasses on a table. He turned around and caught Mac switching them.

"Whose glasses are those?" he asked.

"Sheldon's. He got a new pair." Mac explained.

Danny put his own glasses back on and returned his attention to Lindsay. He offered his most charming smile as he held up the 3 Musketeers. "Trade ya," he said, pointing to the apple.

Lindsay chuckled slightly. "Feel like I'm back in grade school, only back then nobody wanted to take my apple."

"C'mon, Lindsay, help me out, will ya? I'm starvin' an' I ain't got no more quarters."

"I've got a better idea," Mac interjected. He opened his wallet and handed Danny a crisp dollar bill. "Get whatever it is you were gonna get from the machine and I'll buy ya a slice after we interview Randy's drinking buddy."

"Make it two," said Danny. "An'-an' I get ta be the bad cop."

Mac shrugged. "I don't see why not."

It was the least he could do. Mac doubted he'd be such a good sport if someone had just played a trick on him while he was suffering from lack of food and sleep.

**THE END**


End file.
